THERE'S a wall in front of my eyes.

In the thick air, there are invisible signs,

grass whose threads penetrate the heart full of shadow,

lichens in the residue of love.
Incest and light. Consider the lens that came before piety, consider the waters:

if I were able to cross nonexistence fountains of compassion would open

and there would be blind men whose big hands worked sweetly, but cowardice is beautiful in my mother's hair and on this wall silence is written.

Lucid lament, concave truths:

‘Life is worth nothing / nothing is worth life.'
All of you, remember this song before looking in my eyes;

look at my eyes when it snows